


The Final Gift

by pat_t



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pat_t/pseuds/pat_t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan and Joe prepare for a funeral, and Duncan considers his actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Final Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Mild adult content, male/male, slash implied, language, a response to the Bar Story Invitation

The bar was smoky and gray, the lights dimmed to mimic the oppressive weight of the thickening rain outside. Joe cleared his throat and pulled at his collar and tie, both too tight against the growing lump in his throat. 

There was only one other person in his Blues Bar besides himself, and he grumpily wondered at the oppressive smells and thick smoke that continued to cling to the atmosphere like an obsessive lover. 

Another deep clearing of a throat, this time not his own, followed by a deep voice from the other end of the bar: "Give me another one, Joe."

Joe acknowledged the request with a slight nod of his head, and ambled over to the bar almost clumsily, his cane an annoying grind against the tiled floor. Hell, everything today was annoying, he admitted to himself. The rain outside, the thick musty odors inside, the sour taste that stubbornly clung to the inside of his mouth--and the funeral. Ah yes, the God-damned funeral.

He lifted the bottle with an astonishingly steady hand and poured a generous amount into Duncan MacLeod's glass. 

"Thanks." A strong hand, one not quite as steady, reached for the glass and swiped it away from the polished bar. 

Joe studied his friend for a moment, before the other's obvious nervous tension drew Joe's gaze back to the room, back to something... safer. 

Music. If Methos were here, he would want music. Joe punched at the cash register, jumping slightly when the expected ping of the opening drawer still caught him unprepared. He slipped out a five, shut the drawer and made his way over to the jukebox, all too aware of the burning gaze following his every move. 

He closed his eyes when the first drift of sweet soulful jazz lifted from the jukebox and filled the room. With dread, he turned to look at his friend, smiling when he saw the accepting smile and nod of approval. 

"Good choice."

"Yeah. Thought it was appropriate." 

The silence hung heavy between them for a heartbeat. Two. 

"That's one of Methos' favorite songs, you know." 

"I know," Joe answered simply. 

Aw, what the hell? Joe scooted out a chair, grumbling under his breath when the legs scraped across his polished floor.

Duncan continued to watch him silently as Joe shifted around to position his heavy limbs against the bar. 

Joe knew he still had his friend's attention, even as he reached out and filled his own shot glass and took a sip of the burning liquid.

"He asked you to do it, Mac. He didn't give you a choice." 

Duncan's jaw clenched together tightly before he slammed his glass down hard against the bar, seemingly unmindful of the sticky liquid that splashed across his hand. "We always have a choice, Dawson," he ground out angrily. 

Joe put down his drink and held up both his hands in surrender. He didn't answer. He had expected the anger. 

"I had a choice. I took his life, Joe." The words were spoken softly this time. 

Joe sighed in relief and turned in his chair to face the other man. "He wanted you to do it, Mac. He begged you." It needed to be said, Joe told himself. Mac needed to hear it. 

"I know. I had to. I owed him. It's just...."

"I know." 

Duncan acknowledged the quiet affirmation and continued. "I'll miss him, you know. All the times I would come home to find him taking up residence. Drinking my wine. Using my shower. Always sticking his nose in my business. He was so damn annoying, I just wanted to throttle him most of the time." 

Joe smiled and waited until a particularly beautiful chorus died down to the slower melody of piano and strings. "He was good at that. But he was also a good friend. He helped you too."

"Yeah. He was. That's why...." The words drifted away with the music as the next song slid into place in the jukebox. 

"That night...before...."

Duncan turned to Joe sharply. "Before I killed him, Joe?"

"Yeah, before you killed him. Methos? How did he.... Never mind. If you don't want to talk about it...." Joe shrugged his shoulders against the thick material of his suit jacket and reached for his drink. 

"It's okay." Duncan sighed heavily. "Methos knew how hard it was for me. He knew I didn't want to do it. But damn it, he was worn out, hurting, so tired of it all and I promised!" 

Joe placed a reassuring hand on Duncan's forearm and squeezed. "Methos?" 

Duncan took a sip of Scotch and smiled sadly. "Methos. He came to me. Undressed me. Took me to bed. We made love for what seemed like hours. Nothing but the two of us, Joe. His mouth, his hands, his--"

"I know." Joe grabbed Mac's wrist and squeezed hard. He really didn't need to hear the rest. 

Luckily Mac seemed to understand. "His strength, his comfort got me through. Otherwise, I don't know if I could have gone through with it." 

Joe nodded, and waited until Mac took several calming breaths before once again breaking the depressive silence. "We'll be the only ones there?" A question and a statement. 

"Yeah. He didn't have anyone else. Just us. I owe him this too." 

"What's he wearing?"

"Methos?"

"Yeah."

Duncan smiled sincerely this time. "A dark suit and tie." 

Joe sniggered. "He hates that, you know. You should have let him wear his jeans and one of his ratty old sweaters." 

"Joe, it's a funeral," Mac answered indignantly.

"Yeah, but what would it matter?" Joe reached for his glass, then changed his mind and pushed it away in disgust. A glance at his watch told him it was almost time. 

Suddenly the air sparked with tension and Mac stiffened next to him. They both turned towards the door just as it began to open. 

He entered the bar in a flurry of noisy agitation, his large black umbrella shedding streams of rainy droplets across the floor. "Why does it always have to rain in Paris the day of a funeral?" 

He met Joe's disapproving stare with a quirky grin and dropped his umbrella by the door. "Let me get a beer and we'd better go." 

Joe grabbed hold of the bar for leverage and pulled himself off his chair. Next to him, Duncan was pushing his own glass away and standing up. 

Methos came around to stand beside Duncan, his newly acquired beer neglected at the bar so he could embrace his lover with both arms. "It had to be done, Duncan. You did the right thing." 

Methos was speaking softly against Duncan's ear, his hazel eyes darkened with concern, and Joe turned away to give the two men a semblance of privacy, painfully aware that he could still hear the soothing words floating over the music as Methos continued to comfort.

"Maurice was eaten up with cancer. He was suffering. You helped him, love. You gave him the greatest gift you could. An end to his pain. Peace." 

Joe heard a single choked sob followed by an eerie quiet. After a moment, he chanced a look around, and saw the two men pull apart. 

Methos reached for Duncan's hand and entwined their fingers. With his free hand, he grabbed his beer. 

"Ready?" 

Finis


End file.
